Life at the Verge

This is a different kind of Post. In the last two months, I’ve spent two weeks in the U.S. Part of the time I was in Chicago celebrating my own Big Birthday and playing with our delightful (aren’t they all?) 8-month old grandson, and part of the time tending to complicated dental issues in Connecticut, our old stomping ground.

It’s been a weird experience. After immersing myself in Mexico—especially Mesoamerican culture and the Purhépecha culture in the region around Lake Pátzcuaro—I enjoyed reading Bill Moyers' The Conversation Continues, listening to NPR radio on the car radio and going to Bethel Cinema, our local arts theater, to see Cave of Forgotten Dreams, which memorably documents the recently discovered Chauvet caves in the South of France. These extraordinary cave paintings date back 32,000 years.

As I write what I’ve been doing, it occurs to me that perhaps I’m experiencing daily life on a cultural verge. Reed has written that the verge describes the area where two ecosystems meet. When I mentioned the idea to my Canadian friend, Mary, here's what she wrote back:

I love the image ‘living on the verge’...visions of cliffs, ridge lines, or that glorious place in our high country [Canadian Rockies] just before the alpine zone begins...that place of wildly lush meadows, zebra and halloween rocks, cotton grass, and a million kazillion flowers...all small, tender and beautiful...the verge...that still place between the known and the unknown....

In Mexico we seems find ourselves on a variety of verges practically on a daily basis—traditional and global Mexico, U.S. culture and the many levels of Mexican culture. What is increasingly clear to us is that, in all instances, the verge is precisely the place where known and unknown not only meet, but sometimes collide.

Mexico City

The concept of the verge is particularly apt at this moment because Reed and I are in the process of arranging a move to Mexico City. The move has required us to travel back and forth between Mexico City's post-modern urban environment and our current home in traditional Pátzcuaro.

Our commutes bring to mind a second image—that of the threshold (umbral), the place where two rooms—or two cultures—meet.  At times, we feel as if we're literally standing on the door sill—neither fully in one place nor in the other.

We are discovering life at the verge to be dynamic and full of conflict, both creative and destructive.  In biology, some species are in process of being destroyed even as new species are evolving. Culturally, the same is true: it is at the verge that traditional cultural forms slowly change even as new cultural forms are in process of coming into being.  

Both urban and rural settings occupy special places in our hearts. For forty years, Reed and I have chosen to live either in an urban environment (New York City), or on the verge between suburb and open country, which we found first in Upper Westchester County then later in Danbury, CT.

Why Mexico City? Over the past couple of years, we have become increasingly aware of the negative impact of key U.S. policies on the social fabric of Mexico, our host country. Asked to characterize Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, fuereños (Mexicans living outside Pátzcuaro) respond reflexively, “Pátzcuaro, sí…Pátzcuaro es muy tranquilo.”

And so it is…most of the time. But increasingly the unrest—or as our Mexican friends would say,  el desorden (the disorder)—arising from the activities of the drug cartels has become more frequent and more alarming. Mostly it is confined to blockading the highways by confiscating and setting fire to cars, buses and trucks. Typically, these outbursts are acts of retribution protesting the arrest of one drug kingpin or another. 

But kidnappings are not unknown. Nor is extortion—of the taxistas (taxi drivers), of the puestos (stalls) in the mercado (market) that sell CDs. One of our Purhépecha friends told us about a meeting called openly in a cantina (bar) in nearby Uruápan. In this public setting, the cartel informed the indigenous avocado farmers from our friend's pueblo that they would now be required to pay 5% of their profits to the cartels.

Our friend's response was very campesina (countrywoman),

"The rains are so slow coming this year that the harvest will be next to nothing, so the farmers won't have to pay because they won't have anything to sell."

Her meaning was unambiguous:  if the farmers ignore the threat, it will somehow go away.  Our response is, Vamos a ver que pase (we'll see what might happen). 

What's Next?

Since the summer of 2009 Reed has been maintaining a Blog of Mexico Daily News. His growing involvement with these issues led us to consider a move to Mexico City. 

Jenny's Journal arose from our intent to share with our paisanos in the U.S. our experiences of daily life and travels in Mexico, which deepen our understanding of Mexico's history and multi-layered culture. 

Our intent in making the move is to become even more active and to take advantage of Mexico's transportation hub. ¡Carpe diem! we said to each other.  

If Reed and I needed any encouragement, we certainly found it in Bill Moyers' conversation with Harvard Professor of Sociology Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot. Their discussion of what Sara calls The Third Chapter—or what the Mexicans call la tercera edad (the Third Age, following childhood and adulthood). More specifically, Sara related stories about increasing numbers of seniors (los grandes) who are engaging in projects that capture their passion and their imaginations.  Need I say more?

Mexican poet and activist Javier Sicilia, whose son was gunned down with seven of his friends outside Cuernavaca in April (2011), invited people who have suffered loss of family members to drug violence to join him in speaking out on a Caravan for Peace and Justice. Their stories give poignant, powerful testimony to a tragically misguided government policy.

While on the march, a number of family members were interviewed. One family member is Julian Le Barón from Chihuahua, whose family has suffered the assassination of several close family members. Here are Julian's opening remarks:

"We are here today because we have to be—if we don't participate, if we don't protest, we’re accomplices. There are 40,000 dead in this war against drug trafficking. I, for one, think it’s totally wrong. Everyone with a conscience should join in. If we don’t participate, we are collaborating with crime—we’d be less hypocritical if we were criminals."

As U.S. citizens, we feel it is our responsibility to do what we can to raise awareness among our fellow countrymen and women of the basic facts regarding key issues, including drugs and immigration, facing our two countries—the United States, the cherished land of our birth, and México, our beloved host country.

In August 2011 we moved to Coyoacán, Distrito Federal (Mexico City), where we remain committed to interweaving our lives with the culture and daily life of present-day Mexico. 

Hasta pronto—'til soon. 

Travel Journal: Purhépecha Meseta

The entrance to the Purhépecha Meseta (Plateau) is a narrow, grassy valley sandwiched between mountains  rising up on both sides. When it is overcast, the entrance is hidden from us in Pátzcuaro.  But on clear days, the entrance beckons to us.

Not too far west of Pátzcuaro, the Meseta is one of our favorite jaunts. When the call becomes irresistible, there’s nothing left to do but arrange for Pablo, our favorite driver, to take us for an afternoon recorrido (tour).  

At 7,000 feet, Pátzcuaro is already at altitude, but the two-lane highway climbs another 1,000 feet or so as it  ascends to the Meseta. Once up on the Meseta, the surrounding mountain peaks easily rise nearly another 3,000 feet.  The natural beauty of these lands defies description—and at times defeats the camera’s lens. 

Arriving at the Meseta, which spreads out in front of us.

The Meseta is home to the Purhépecha people, who were never defeated by the Aztecs. When the Purhépechas learned of the Aztecs’ devastating defeat at the hands of the Spanish, they sent a delegation to  Cortés to inform him that they were prepared to become subjects of the Spanish king. Unfortunately, their acceptance of Spanish rule did not inoculate them against the brutal excesses of Cortés’ soldiers.

Fortunately, Bishop Vasco de Quiroga—intent on establishing a Utopia among the indigenous peoples of Nueva España—arrived and intervened on their behalf with the Spanish military.  Part of Bishop Quiroga’s strategy was to help the Purhépecha develop gainful livelihoods under Spanish rule. To this end, he allegedly assigned a specific craft to each pueblo. However, our Purhépecha friends tell us that Bishop Quiroga merely formalized artisan traditions already well-established in the communities. Today many of these artisan crafts enjoy international recognition.

But this time our trip wasn't so much focused on the artesanía as it was on pure and simple enjoyment of this beautiful natural setting.  We were on a wanderweg, or (as our Australian friends say) a walkabout.  So as we meandered slowly up the Meseta, we asked Pablo to stop so Reed could photograph the flowers.   

Lupine were in bloom all along the roadside.

These blue flowers look like what in the U.S. is called "Blue-Eyed Grass." 

This delicate white flower is a nettle!  

In keeping with our intent to meander, we took the turn-off to San Isidro, a small pueblo we usually pass by. We were enchanted by the setting, the rural quiet and by the charming, freshly painted plaza that is the pueblo's center.

Band stands are a common feature in the plazas of many Mexican towns.

Here's an inviting place to sit. This two-story house is the only two-story house on the plaza.

Compañeros (Partners)

                                   Ejidos are lands that were distributed by the Mexican government (President Lázaro Cárdenas) after the Mexican Revolution to indigenous communities

Each family has its own 'plot' in the ejido but the land itself is owned by members of the community. NAFTA introduced changes to the Mexican Constitution that allowed ejido lands to be sold, which has been a source of considerable conflict.  In contrast, comuneros are indigenous lands that have always been held by the indigenous community; they can be sold only to other members of the indigenous community. The comunero system predates the arrival of the Spanish.  

Leaving San Isidro we pass by el Panteón de San Isidro (the cemetary) and stop to take a picture. 

Mexican cemeteries are remarkable for their vitality - that's corn growing in the foreground

In his inimitable way, Pablo commented that he'd like to be buried here because there's plenty of corn nearby to keep him fed with tortillas. His remark is in keeping with his oft-repeated mantra, "Primero la panza" (first, the belly).

Milpa (Cornfields) adjoining the cemetery

Who is Pablo? He is our favorite Monarca driver. Born and raised in Mexico City, Pablo is in his early 40's. He is short, trim, and always neatly dressed. He maintains his car impeccably.

Initially attracted by his sense of humor, we have come to appreciate Pablo's intelligence and calm temperament. When things go wrong--as they can--he lightens the moment with a nonchalant, "Detalles, detalles" (Details, details). He takes an entrepreneurial approach to his taxi business, has several clients (including us) who contact him directly rather than calling the Monarca Dispatcher and is in demand for long distance trips. 

In the United States, Pablo would be a small business owner, or at least a middle manager. We have met many men like Pablo. In our experience, they keep Mexico going.  

The views as we leave San Isidro are so striking that we stop more than once for Reed to take pictures. 

Fields nestle up right against the mountains,

where forests are maintained to provide leña (firewood)

During our first visit to the Meseta, it took me awhile to figure out what was different about these fields. Then it dawned on me: there are no houses here, no buildings at all.  The lands are farmed communally, and all the campesinos live with their families in the pueblos. Each day they make their way out to the fields either by walking (yes!), or perhaps riding a horse or burro, or they ride in a pickup truck. 

Pablo and I were both startled when Reed suddenly ordered, "Stop here, please."  Clearly, Reed spotted something important, but Pablo and I were still in the dark when Reed got out of the car and went to the other side of the road for a better shot.  What had caught his eye?

  Globalization arrives on the Meseta - Cellphone tower just outside pastoral San Isidro

On this discordant note, we headed farther out onto the Meseta--heading toward Paracho, the pueblo whose specialty is making world-class guitars.  We traveled along this road.

And here's the view that greeted us as we came around the bend:

The lands roll away from us--layer after layer.  The landscape on the Meseta is layered in a way that reminds me of the many levels of Mexican culture.  My favorites places are those where the land rolls away from the road, such that it feels as if we are quite literally on top of the world.  It is a breathtaking experience--impossible to photograph.

Then just to make sure we're still paying attention, this extinct volcano came into view.  

The state of Michoacán is on the Eje Volcánico (Volcanic Axis) that cinches Mexico east and west like a belt. My map geek husband has 'flown' GoogleMaps across our part of Michoacán.  His comment:  "I had no idea there were so many extinct volcanoes; the countryside is like the surface of the moon." 

Eventually, we arrived in Paracho, where Reed took this picture across Paracho's red-tiled roofs of the jagged peak known as Purhépecha.  GoogleMaps gives the elevation of the peak as 10,700 feet and Paracho as 7,300 feet.  As Reed snapped the photo, the rains moved in again.

As I complete this Post, I face a difficult choice.  I can end the Post here, but if I do, I ignore current reality. The truth is that Reed and I took this trip a year ago in June, when the Meseta was quiet.

In the last few months, the tranquility of these ancient lands has been threatened by the encroachment of bootleg loggers associated with the cartels. These men are illegally logging valuable lumber from comunero lands that have belonged to the pueblo (people) of Cherán forever--since before the arrival of the Spanish. The deforestation resulting from their illegal activity has already denuded one forest and now threatens the sustainability of a second forest.

To counter this threat, the people of Cherán have blockaded themselves in the pueblo (town). In so doing, they have closed the highway leading into and out of Cherán. Their closure forces long-haul truckers to go the long way round from Guadalajara to Uruapán.  The sad reality is that it is no longer safe to travel on the Meseta.

For more information about the struggle in Cherán. 

Mexico Fiestas: How They Work & What They Mean

Let me tell you about this week after Semana Santa.  Tuesday afternoon we began to hear cohetes (rockets or huge firecrackers) being set off in Ihuatzio.  I was interested to hear the discussion among our albañiles (a family team of workmen) on our roof cleaning and rearranging tejas (red roof tiles) in preparation for the rainy season, which arrives in May.

Following a brief discussion of whether the cohetes came from Janitzio (major island in Lake Pátzcuaro) or Ihuatzio (pueblo straight across the now-dry Lake bed from us), Daniel (father) pronounced definitively that the origin was Ihuatzio, and the cohetes were announcing the beginning of Ihuatzio's annual fiesta honoring their patron saint, San Isidro.

The pueblo's full name follows the custom of the frailes (members of the Catholic Monastic Orders that sent missionaries to Nueva España) to use both the Purhépecha and a Saint's name.  So the pueblo's full name is Ihuatzio de San Isidro.

But this is a three-day fiesta, and last night was the pueblo's baile tradicional (traditional dance). I can attest to the fact that they were going strong at 2:00 AM, when I wakened briefly to enjoy the sounds of Mexican music before putting in earplugs so I could get the rest of my beauty sleep.

Mexican Fiesta Band

The story of fiestas is an excellent example of how cultural understanding builds over time. For me, the first stage was simply enjoying, even savoring, the full sensual impact of Mexican fiesta traditions.

Señoritas in Traditional Dress Bearing Bottles of Tequila
for Champions at the Jaripeo (Bull-Riding Rodeo)

All five senses are involved—sights (families, bright colors), sounds (happy chatter, music and dance, games, cohetes), touch, taste and smells aroused by mouth-watering, soul-satisfying traditional foods—corundas, atole (corn-based beverage seasoned with various fruits), tortillas a mano (handmade tortillas), tacos of all kinds, and much more.

Young men stirring huge pots of Atole

Stage Two began when I first learned how fiestas are arranged. A Mexican friend told me that one person in the pueblo accepts the cargo (charge) for the year's fiestas, which includes not only arranging, but paying expenses associated with the fiesta as well:  bands; religious services; food and drink for assistants; adornments for the Saint's image (frequently a statue); cohetes (rockets) and Castillos (towers of fireworks)!

Castillos, Fireworks Towers, are a standard element of fiestas

My initial reaction was disbelief ("But how can that be?"), followed quickly by mild censure as I learned that sometimes a family will send a son to the U.S. to earn the money to pay for the fiesta. What?—asked this incredulous extranjera (foreigner), still trying hard to understand.

My Mexican friend further explained that it has been known to happen that upon receiving money from the government, a pueblo's Elders have chosen to pay for their fiesta rather than make infrastructure improvements to the pueblo. The mild censure of this civil engineer's daughter yielded to outright disbelief:  "How can this possibly be?  How can the Elders choose to 'waste' these funds on a fiesta?"  

Over time, that is, in an ongoing Stage Three, I am coming to learn, and far more than merely learn about, but to appreciate deeply the wisdom of, this culturally-based reasoning. As my understanding increases, so does my respect.

As it turns out, a pueblo's fiestas are much more than an annual 'party'. In these communal societies, continuity of family and community is top priority. In this context, fiestas are essential social rituals for reinforcing familial and communal identity essential for preserving millenia-old cultural traditions rooted in Mesoamerican culture.

Community members living afuera (outside the pueblo, either in other regions of Mexico or in the U.S.) make annual visits—one might say pilgrimages—to attend their pueblo's fiesta. At this time and in this way, communal identity is affirmed in a traditional reaffirmation of: Who I belong to, and Who belongs to me.

Sign reads: "Employees of Tzintzuntzan 2009"
"Lord of the Rescue"
"Commission of the People and Migrant Brothers (25-year tradition)"

These traditions are built on ancient Mesoamerican customs of mutual responsibility and mutual obligation described by Gustavo Estefa and Guillermo Bonfil Battalla (México Profundo), among others.

A person's invitation to accept the cargo for the pueblo's fiestas is, in fact, one of the highest honors the pueblo can bestow. It singles out the carguero as a person who not only knows what must be done to maintain the ancient cultural tradition, but how to do it.  The role of carguero brings prestige and honor to himself and to his entire extended family.

From an early age, children begin to assume responsibilities in the larger community; that is, they begin to act in ways that acknowledge and honor their obligation to the community. As they mature, responsibilities become increasingly significant until, as adults, they may choose to participate in the sistema de cargos (hierarchy of public tasks).

It is by their service to the community over many years—even decades—that the individual develops a variety of specialized capacities for maintaining the community and assumes increasing responsibility and authority for community governance.

A majority of roles (cargos) are annual. In some situations, acceptance of a charge is voluntary; in other situations, a cargo is imposed either by designation or by election. In either situation, the social pressure to accept is intense. 

The sistema de cargos formalizes the authority of the community in three inextricably linked spheres: civil, religious and moral.  A person who successfully performs all the "laddered" tasks is admitted to the community's circle of "principles" or Elders, in whom the ultimate authority of the community resides.

This closed circle of Elders is charged with maintaining the group's cultural—that is, indigenous—heritage with its Mesoamerican roots. Participation in the sistema de cargos implies a fundamental orientation of one's life toward service to the community. For that reason, it is one of the basic norms underlying identification with and membership in the community's circle of Elders.

Council of Elders for Pueblo on shores of Lake Pátzcuaro

There is a visible congruence among seemingly diverse cultural aspects of these indigenous communities:

• Orientation of production toward self-sufficiency is congruent with a society that recognizes prestige (rather than, for example, material success); these core values—self-sufficiency and prestige—tend to equalize material gain and discourage accumulation of wealth. 
• Neighborly and familial connections based on networks of reciprocal relationships (mutual obligation—similar to the farming communities that settled the Midwest and West) are the same as those required for the acquisition of authority by means of prestige described above.  
• Communal property and restrictions placed on the acquisition of private property are congruent with roles,  relationships and values described above.

In sum, the community profile describes a society in which full realization of the individual is achieved by means of service to the community, which in turn, gives back prestige and authority to the individual who undertakes to participate in the sistema de cargos.

For this extranjera, raised in a culture that values individualism, individual effort and material success, the placement of family and community, including an ancient cultural heritage, at the center of one's effort and care involves a growing acceptance of a radically different way of thinking about all the possible ways we might consider living together on our Planet Earth.

Jenny's Update: 2014 

If you're up to having basic assumptions challenged, I strongly recommend Naomi Klein's recently published (2014) "This Changes Everything: Capitalism Vs. the Climate"; reviewed in New York Times by Rob Nixon, "Naomi Klein’s ‘This Changes Everything’." (The review is exceptionally useful for understanding the thrust of Klein's argument.)

The first generous third of this highly researched and vetted work reviews climate science. I plowed my way through the science, which Naomi presents in the most accessible way possible. Becoming increasingly pessimistic, I was completely unprepared when Naomi Klein sprang a surprise on this trusting reader. A Canadian, she introduced a discussion of Canada's First Nations as best positioned to take on and stop the Keystone XL pipeline. Even more, she discusses the worldview underlying their way of life.

* * * * * Most Highly Recommended.

Easter Sunday in Pátzcuaro

This morning dawned clear and bright at Casa Mariposa.  Easter Sunday was heralded by the inimitable sound of cohetes—rockets, or large firecrackers—calling the Faithful to Mañanitas, Morning Prayers.  I'm not quite sure why the cohetes sound so reassuring and friendly; perhaps it is knowing that they take the place of bells in the smaller churches around Lake Pátzcuaro.

Easter Sunday is mostly a Family Day.  Our favorite restaurant in Pátzcuaro, el Camino Real (the King's Highway), is decorated for the occasion with blown-out eggs hung on a tree. The symbolism is unclear, but eggs are clearly fertility symbols in anticipation of the approaching planting season.

The restaurant's cocineras (Mexican chefs are traditionally women) will be kept hopping all day preparing  almuerzo (brunch) in the late morning, followed by comida (dinner) in the afternoon.

Tables will be set up in a covered patio area in front of the restaurant to accommodate customers. Meanwhile, the restaurant's cheerful meseros (waiters) will quickly push tables together to accommodate family groups easily numbering ten, fifteen, even twenty or more people per family.

One of my favorite sounds in Mexico is the muted, comfortable sound of family conversation punctuated by the gentle laughter that seems to come easily and often during these family celebrations.

Easter Message from Pátzcuaro

For this extranjera (foreigner) living as embedded as possible in a Mexican neighborhood, it is increasing awareness of and respect for the acute Mexican sense of the dualism that characterizes all life.

In the Mexican sensibility, every condition of human life is characterized inevitably by its opposite state—life and death, joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, success and failure, bitter and sweet—the list is as infinite as the states of the human condition.

When we first arrived, I experienced as jarring, discordant, the automatic reminder by our Mexican friends of a condition's opposite state.  Being reminded of a condition's opposite denied me the luxury of relishing—or wallowing in—a current state.

But over time, I've discovered the wisdom inherent in recognizing the Essential Duality of Life:  no condition—positive or negative—lasts forever.  I'm mindful of St. Paul's comment from his imprisonment:  "I've learned in whatever state I am, therein to be content." 

It is in this context that perhaps we can approach an understanding of the suffering and penance of Good Friday and Holy Saturday as the necessary precursor for celebration of the Risen Christ on Easter Sunday.

¡Feliz Pascua!  Happy Easter!

Mexico Tradition: Vibrant Informal Economy

The Mexican government recently released an interesting statistic. A full forty-three percent of the Mexican economy is 'informal', which is to say that the business activity is neither registered with the government nor is it taxed.  To my way of thinking, forty-three percent is a pretty big number, but given what we observe here in Pátzcuaro and in our travels around the country, the number is credible.

The entrepreneurial ingenuity of the Mexican people never ceases to amaze us. Evangelina is a good example.  She helps me with the house. It is our custom to begin her day with a cup of Urúapan coffee in the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, we gossip, trade notes and observations on life.

Early in her marriage Evangelina realized that her life would be hard and, in her words:

"I could either get depressed, or I could decide what I wanted to do with my life.  I decided that even if I couldn't go, I would make sure that each of my children went to school."

And that is exactly what she did.  One daughter works for the government dealing with exports; another is a social worker; a third teaches school. Her son is a bookkeeper in Los Angeles.

In Mexico, parents pay a lot of public school expenses, so it wasn't easy.  But as Evangelina tells it:

"If a child needed a new uniform—that's okay, I'd take some of the eggs from my chickens to sell in the market. If another needed books or to pay for dance, that's okay, I'd sell extra avocados from my tree."

The informal economy at work!

What I pay Evangelina is part of the informal economy—as are our cash payments to the gardener and the various, occasional handymen who help us maintain Casa Mariposa.

I guess Reed and I are becoming acculturated because we're no longer surprised by the vendors we encounter nearly everywhere. As Reed puts it:

"At any given event, people are there selling something."

Holy Week is approaching.  One of the processions will go up to Calvario Church on Good Friday.  Along the procession route, homeowners will offer food and drink for sale. Some homeowners will offer to rent chairs on their balconies to visitors who desire a better view.

Our young adult friends needed to make extra money for a special project. So they hit upon the idea of preparing tacos a vapor (delicious steamed tacos) to sell on Sunday mornings in the market. Thanks to the informal economy, they were able to finance their project!

Pátzcuaro's mercado (open air market) is a combination of formal (government registered, tax-paying) and informal businesses. As examples of informal 'businesses', I have in mind the traditionally dressed indigenous women from the pueblos who, seated on their petates (woven grass mats) on the ground, offer garden herbs and vegetables for sale.

But I'm also thinking of the numerous 'regular' street vendors, who spend their days walking around Plaza Grande offering their wares—traditional baked goods, herbs, candies, carved crosses, rebozos, pottery. And this list doesn't even take into account the street musicians! Wherever we go in Mexico, the vendors are there ahead of us.

It occurs to me that perhaps one way to understand the informal economy is as a coping strategy for Mexico's ordinary people. The employment situation in Mexico is difficult. There just aren't enough jobs to go around. The social safety net is weak at best.


In this context, it is reasonable to view the informal economy as a creative response to life's challenges. Aguante (persistence) is a primary cultural value. I'm reminded again of our friend Norma's comment: "We Mexicans are like our burros; we just keep going."

The entrepreneurial ingenuity,  energy and persistence of our Mexican neighbors in the face of daunting economic realities never ceases to amaze and awe us.

Here's an article about the informal economy in a Mexican urban setting that Reed posted yesterday on the Americas Blog.

Mexican Culture: Cohetes (Firecrackers or Rockets)

The Casa Mariposa—the house we rent—is located on a bay in Lake Pátzcuaro about a mile equidistant from the pueblos of Tzurumútaro on one side and Estación (Old Railway Station) on the other.  Across the bay a couple of miles away is the pueblo of Ihuatzio.  At the head of the bay is the Island of Janitzio made famous by its Day of the Dead celebrations (el Día de los Muertos).  

You may well be asking what these pueblos have in common, and why they are important to us.  If you were to stay with us for a couple of days, you'd be likely to discover the answer at various times of the day, night or predawn as the silent countryside is broken by giant firecrackers—rockets.

Essentially communication devices, the unmistakable sound of Mexican rockets are an integral part of Mexican pueblo life. Churches in the pueblos around Lake Pátzcuaro don't have bells, so cohetes are used to announce each pueblo's fiestas, often beginning at 6:30 AM to summon the faithful to 7:00 AM Mass.

Our central location makes us default aficionados of the art of the cohetero (man in charge of lighting the cohetes). We have yet to learn, for example, why we have sometimes heard cohetes in the madrugada (predawn) hours—even at 3:00 and 4:00 AM. Reed says they announce Mañanitas (Morning Prayers), but for me, it's a mystery!

But in the meantime, Reed and I have had a more immediate rompecabeza (head-breaker, or puzzle) to solve. For the past two years, we've been invited to share the fiesta of Corpus Christi in Ucazanaztacua, the pueblo of an indigenous friend. We have been touched by this High Mass celebrated outdoors.

Incense, music, and the devotion of the faithful create a rich experience of the sensuality of Mexican culture: our eyes feast on the colors of traditional Purhépecha dress, our ears are calmed by sounds of the priest's chant and people singing, and our senses are heightened by the fragrance of smoldering copal (incense).

Although we are not Catholic, we understand the symbolism of the Mass, so we have been baffled to understand why, at the sacred moment when the priest elevates the Host and, through the miracle of Transubstantiation, this wafer is believed to become the Body of Christ—why it is at that precise moment that the cohetero sets off several rockets in a row.

What has been equally baffling is that the priest—standing at an outdoor altar no more than twenty feet away from the cohetero—is seemingly unfazed by the noise of the rockets firing. Similarly, the faithful don't even seem to blink. Recently, we discovered why. Before the arrival of the Spanish, Mesoamericans beat huge drums to announce the start of their rituals in order to assure that the gods were paying attention to their actions.

It seems cohetes are used today for the same purpose: to make sure that God/s is/are paying attention. I've made this comment before, but it bears repeating:  it is one thing to read about the prevalence of religious syncretism, where Christian rituals and beliefs rest on top of millenia-old indigenous rituals and beliefs, but it is entirely different to experience it first-hand.

The Chinese invented gunpowder, so it's fair to assume that the first Mexican cohetes—whose traditions date back nearly five hundred years—were brought to Mexico from China by the Spanish.

Poking around for more information about cohetes, I came upon this delightful, first-person description written for MexConnect by a US expat living in San Cristóbal de las Casas (Chiapas, Mexico). Here's the link: Cohetes: A Mexican Tradition.

Mesoamerican Culture: Alive in Modern Mexico

A few months ago, I came upon a remarkable article posted on CNNMexico (January 1, 2011).  The cultural richness is so striking that I'd like to share it with you.

Back to Basics

Ancient Mesoamerican civilization rests at the heart of the major work of Mexican anthropologist Guillermo Bonfil Batalla—México Profundo: Una civilización negada. In Bonfil Batalla’s words, Mesoamerican civilization is "...one of the few original civilizations that humanity has created throughout all its history."

The anthropologist set out to investigate how Mesoamerican culture survives today not only as an “internally cohesive culture” in the country's numerous indigenous pueblos, but as a "multitude of isolated traits distributed in different ways in [Mexico's] urban populations".

Poking around on Amazon.com to see if the work is available in English (happily, it is: Mexico profundo: A civilization reclaimed translated by Philip A. Dennis), I came upon this translator's statement on the back cover:

"An ancient agricultural complex provides their [indigenous communities'] food supply, and work is understood as a way of maintaining a harmonious relation with the natural world. Health is related to human conduct, and community service is often part of each individual's life obligation. Time is circular, and humans fulfill their own cycle in relation to other cycles of the universe."

From CNN Mexico

The notion of community service as an obligation sets the stage for the CNNMexico piece. Here's my translation from the Spanish of what happened:

Leandro Hernández was elected Mayor of his municipality [pueblo] without even knowing it. One day when he was Mexico City participating in a course on human development, his cell phone rang. 

It was a call came from his pueblo, where the elders were meeting: “Leandro,” they said, “we are meeting in assembly at the pueblo, and all of us have decided that you are the next Mayor.”

Don Hernández said that the notice came like a bucket of cold water, because he hasn’t lived in Santiago Zacatepec (in Oaxaca’s Mixe region) for 56 years. 

“It is a great responsibility,” he commented, especially considering that his plans for 2011 did not include returning to the community that he left when he was only eleven years old.  

The article goes on to explains that the “System of Uses and Customs” employed in a majority (418) of Oaxaca’s 570 indigenous municipalities allows mayoral elections to proceed in assemblies of the municipalities’ governing officials (elders)—without either the presence or desire of those chosen to serve. Reportedly, the inhabitants of the 418 pueblos fear being chosen, because the mayor serves without pay. At most, the mayor might receive a bonus at year’s end.

This situation is in marked contrast to Oaxaca’s other 150 municipalities, in which mayoral candidates launch formal election campaigns to win the people’s vote. In these pueblos, the mayor receives about 50,000 pesos monthly [about $4,100 USD]—a significant amount of money in rural Mexico.

Don Leandro Hernández considered the possibility of refusing, but the elders told him that he was the best they had and, besides, “…serving as Mayor is a form of giving back to the community that which it has given to you.”

To this day, reports Bonfil Batalla, the top priority of indigenous communities remains the protection and preservation of the community. Networks of mutual obligation, like the one that tugged so effectively at Don Leandro Hernández, bind community members together. But here's the cultural kicker: 

In response to a reporter’s question, Don Leandro replied: “I felt nervous and worried; I kept thinking about how to reply, but I saw that I had no other choice, so I said ‘yes’.”

Ladder of Communal Responsibility

In traditional communities to this day, children, youths, young people and older adults are presented with tasks of increasing responsibility for protecting, preserving and maintaining the community. Additional responsibility and authority is awarded to those who demonstrate that they are aware not only of what ought to be, but how communal tasks are to be performed, even—perhaps especially—when the community faces new situations. It is this latter quality, of course, that assures the pueblo's ability to adapt to changing conditions as they evolve over time.

Assumption of increasingly important cargos (charges, responsibilities) carries significant prestige for the entire extended family.

Born in Santiago Zacatepec in 1944, Leandro Hernández left the pueblo at age 11. Originally he planned to study for the priesthood, but he later changed his vocation and married. He and his wife have two adult children, both professionals. Since 1977 he has worked for the state government in the office of Social Communication, first for the ruling PRI [Party of the Institutional Revolution], then for the State of Oaxaca, and finally in the Congress.

Founder of the Organization of Mixe Race that awards scholarships to support university education for young people from Oaxaca’s Mixe region, Don Leandro says that he has never forgotten his origins. As he explains, “There was a lack of resources to help young people continue their studies, so I arranged these things for my people, but now I will have to raise my support.”

Don Leandro's recognition of the ties of mutual obligation occasioned by his Mixe birth is evidenced by his early resolve to initiate action to fulfill his responsibility to "give back" to his birth community. In ancient times, the Mesoamerican Divinatory Calendar not only described and fixed the fate of newborns, but instructed them how to live as they matured.

Don Leandro's acknowledgment that "now I will have to raise my support" signals his acceptance of the added obligation to accept the cargo awarded to him by the pueblo's elders to serve as Mayor and thus to contribute to preserving and maintaining the community. 

"This past December 31, with suitcase in hand Don Hernández caught the bus to Santiago Zacatepec with its 3,200 Mixe-speaking inhabitants, nestled in the foothills of Cempoaltépetl—at 11,122 feet one of Oaxaca’s three highest mountains.  On the morning of January 1, he received the Bastón de Mando [ceremonial mace] from Leovigildo Santos García, Zacatepec's outgoing mayor.

"Nearly two feet long, the Bastón de Mando symbolizes the authority of Oaxaca’s indigenous pueblos. On the day Don Leandro Hernández assumed its possession, the top part of the bastón was adorned with red, green and white ribbons—the colors of the Mexican flag.  After the ceremony, the bastón was returned to its special place at City Hall. The mayor carries it only on special occasions—to town meetings, for example, or to resolve a local conflict.”

Bird Jaguar IV, ahaw or lord of Yaxchilan (752-768 A.D.) passes el Bastón de Mando to his son, Sky God Jaguar (769-780 A.D.) 

Bastón de Mando

The Bastón de Mando is a very powerful and ancient Mesoamerican symbol (see photo above). Some bastónes resemble an ear of the corn that was the bedrock of Mesoamerican civilization. The surplus of maís (corn) enabled development of a non-laboring ruling class.  

It was the ruling class that constructed the city-states throughout Mesoamerica (Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, etc.) and developed the cultural practices that gave birth to Mesoamerican civilization. The well-known Mexican dicho (saying) expresses it best:

"Sin maís, no hay país” (Without corn, there is no country).

The CNN Mexico article concludes:

“Don Leandro Hernández’s original 2011 New Year Resolution was to practice yoga and care for his body, but he must now leave that resolution behind, because from January 1, 2011, his principle goal is to consider how to govern wisely the Mixe pueblo of Zacatepec.”

Conclusion—More or Less

Let me end this post by recalling Bonfil Batalla’s investigative goal—to discover

“…how Mesoamerican culture survives today not only as an 'internally cohesive culture' in the country's numerous indigenous pueblos, but as a 'multitude of isolated traits' distributed in different ways in [Mexico's] urban populations."

This account of the response of an educated, urbanized, sophisticated indigenous man summoned by his pueblo's elders to assume a traditional obligation provides powerful testimony to the ongoing strength of Mesoamerican cultural traits in modern-day Mexico.

Mexico Fiesta: Candleária (Ground Hog's Day)

I thought you might enjoy of my description of Candleária (Candlemas for Catholics and Episcopalians), which celebrates the day 40 days after Christmas that Joseph and Mary, following Jewish Law, presented Jesus at the temple. It is also the Midpoint of Winter, known to us as Ground Hog's Day.

So here's what happened last week. Truth be known, we're pretty tired following two days of fiesta: Tuesday night we went to the Purhépecha Nuevo Fuego (New Fire). It used to be that Nuevo Fuego was celebrated only every 52 years, when the 260-day and 365-day Mesoamerican calendars coincided. This time was seen as a period of heightened danger that the sun might fail to return to bring life. All the fires in all the pueblos were extinguished and subsequently re-lit from torches lit by a single fire from Teotihuacan and carried by runners out to the pueblos.

Today Nuevo Fuego is celebrated in Pátzcuaro in conjunction with Candleária. Last year it was celebrated as part of the Mexican Bicentennial Independence and Centennial Revolution festivities.

Part of Nuevo Fuego involved groups from different pueblos presenting their pueblo's traditional indigenous dance. Reed is quite intent on 'decoding' their symbolism. Sadly, the people have somehow lost connection with the symbolic roots of many of their dance traditions. Last year, Reed asked several people about the meaning of the Dance of the Moors (who occupied and ruled the Iberian Peninsula for 800 years!). He was taken aback by their reply: "We don't know what the dances mean; we just do them."

The dances aren't "dance-y" as we know dance; the steps are very basic. Instead, the dances are image-dances that use costumes and ritual patterns to tell mythic and legendary themes and dynamics. One dance especially we suspect to be pre-Spanish. Dancers' capes were made of long grasses; headdresses were dried animal bones -- probably cattle. The dancers were barefoot; the only music was made by a variety of rhythms beat on a drum that was a hollowed-out tree log. Powerful to watch, clearly it is a hunting dance of some kind. But this kind of dance is exceptional.

More common are dances involving costumes that clearly hark back to the Spanish Colonial era -- soft skirts and blouses for the women; white campesino pants and soft shirts for the men. But again, each dance relates a timeless mythic or legendary truth.

Periodically, the announcer would take time to point out the position of the constellation Orion, whose position directly overhead marks the start of the New Year. This moment is celebrated in the Purhépecha area around Lake Pátzcuaro with the Fireball Game, which is more or less a 'field hockey' game, except that the 'ball' is made of pitch and is set aflame. Players whack away at this flaming ball with sticks. Gives a whole new meaning to the notion of 'playing with fire', doesn't it?

The Fireball Game with its indigenous roots has become a real national event -- quite competitive! My Spanish teacher (himself a devoted soccer player) told me with great relish that non-Purhépechas -- teenage boys and girls! -- have now formed teams, which are quite good! So good, in fact, that they even occasionally beat Purhépecha teams!

The next day we went out to Tócuaro, pueblo of our mask-maker friend Enedina. I want to write her story. Here's the short version: born to clearly talented parents, she learned maskmaking from her father and a crochet-like handstitch technique from her mother. Enedina made the rebozo that I gave to our daughter Kyla for her wedding.

Orphaned at age 10, her uncles subsequently robbed her and her brother of her deceased father's quite considerable landholdings. Married at 14, she had 14 children (she is now grandmother to 50 grandchildren). However, she is also the only female maskcarver in Mexico; her work is world-famous, and her masks have garnered the First Prize in numerous national contests. Her pieces are owned by international collectors and the Mexican elite, including former President Salinas de Gortari.

She decided early on that all of her children would go to school -- and over the protests of her husband, they did! Four of them are now teachers. Several sons are carvers. The daughters maintain the tradition of bordado (needlework).

It was pleasant to sit on her covered patio, peeking out through the bougambilia at the blue sky, punctuated by tall green pine trees reaching toward the sky, chatting with the grandchildren and their parents. Enedina had comida with us at a small table set up on the patio. But our purpose had been to attend the Purhépecha dances. I may have described them two years ago.

There are three devils -- Pecado (Sin), Luzbel (we know him as Lucifer, the Morning Star which was ominous in many cultures; in Mesoamerican times, ritual war was waged under the Morning Star aka Venus), Astucia (Cunning or Conniving). By tradition, the community chooses the dancers a year ahead. To be selected is a high honor; each dancer makes his/her own costume. Also by tradition, the Devils wear thick black velvet capes richly stitched with fantastic, diabolical figures.

One of Enedina's sons was the Pecado Devil this year; it had taken him an entire year to carve his mask. The extended family had also made his costume -- incredible handwork, a combination of embroidery and sequins worked on rich black velvet cape, gorgeous, fantastic representations of mythical diabolical creatures. But what blew me away were Pecado's gloves, which were made of feathers with long wood-carved, blood-red-painted fingernails. Wild!

Anyway, the three Devils (Diablos) confront St. Michael played by a little boy of about six years complete with halo and sword. The Diablos submit to St. Michael by laying down prone in front of him, and St. Michael symbolizes his dominance by standing with one foot placed firmly on the shoulder of one Devil. But the Devils'submission doesn't last long!

The Devils next rise up accompanied by a variety of masked characters depicting the full range of human sin. There were at least 20 characters in this part of the dance. Clearly, this is what the crowd comes to see. There was much high hilarity among the Mexicans as they recognized and cracked up not only over various "in" jokes about the infinite varieties of human foible and sin, but over the creativity and ingenuity of the dancers in depicting those same faces -- masks! -- of sin.

It reminded me of the Roman Emperor who advocated "Give them bread and circuses!" As sensitive and perceptive a critic as Octavio Paz has written that Mexicans have their fiestas in order to release pressure from their oppressive, largely powerless conditions. Paz's observation is undoubtedly at least partially true. But what is equally true is that Mexican fiestas are important celebrations of communal identity: “Fiestas remind the people of who they belong to, and of who belongs to them.”

What we know in the U.S. as individuality has at best a very light footprint in Mexico. Members of the pueblo are bound by ties of mutual obligation. The same is even more true at the family level where, again, members are bound to each other by mutual obligation. In a society whose social safety net is basic at best, it is these links of mutual obligation that support, regulate and regenerate everyday Mexican life.

In our view, it is these networks of mutual obligation that have enabled a remarkable social continuity across centuries of difficult Mexican history. Despite the arrival of the Spanish and the turmoil of the 19th century of struggle that defined the Mexican Revolution, and despite the disorder sown by today's ill-conceived 'war on drugs', life persists at the levels of family and pueblo. The fiestas are essential communal expressions and reaffirmations of those ties.

Meanwhile, back to the dance! Absolute, dissolute chaos seemingly reigns in the world, yet at one side of the stage -- in vivid contrast to the raucous antics of the diablitos -- are eight prepubescent youth in two rows: four girls dressed in white, complete with veils down their backs; four boys also dressed in white, each of the eight youngsters holding a pole (strongly reminiscent of May Poles) richly decorated with fruits and flowers.

These pre-teenagers perform a highly ritualized set of maneuvers (think Court Dancing of the Middle Ages) seemingly unperturbed by the ruckus all around them. It is absolutely wonderful -- clearly a fertility rite, but above all else ... ¡es muy mexicano! in its recognition and celebration of life's inherent Dualities: Good and Evil, Light and Dark, Winning and Losing, Order and Disorder, Life and Death, and many others.

It was an incredible experience. Quite remarkable. But after seven hours of speaking Spanish intensively, both of us arrived home absolutely exhausted ¡y también muy satisfechos y contentos! (and very satisfied and content).

Mexico Tradition: Boda (Wedding)

Yesterday we went to a boda (wedding) at Tsentséncuaro. Oh, my word -- it involved the entire pueblo community! Victor, the brother of Alejandra (our Spanish teacher) was a padrino (godfather)- a sponsor supporting the costs of the wedding - so she was going and invited us to come with her.

After the wedding (2 pm), the novios (newlyweds) walked through the streets of the pueblo to a house of one of the padrinos, where we sat down and enjoyed hot chocolate y pan (bread). Then we walked up to the house of the novio (groom), where there was comida (dinner) and hours later cena (supper).

Where was the fiesta at this modest house? Oh, it was easy -- they just closed the stone-paved street and set up tables in front of the house. There must have been settings for 300! We enjoyed pollo (chicken) with mole y arroz (rice) while we waited for the novios to appear -- hours later!

It's not clear to me exactly what they were doing. When I asked Alejandra, she smilingly replied, "They are starting the miel de la luna (honeymoon)." Consummating the marriage? Maybe...anyway, they then walked through the streets of the pueblo accompanied by an all-female banda and by loud, dancing revelers taunting the groom.

When the procession arrived at the house of the novio's parents, I must say, the groom appeared far more relaxed than he had been either at the church or at the house of the padrinos, so who knows what had happened!

The newlyweds sat on a kind of double throne to receive gifts from their guests, who danced up a long aisle before presenting their gifts to the novios. Reed and Alejandra's seven-year old little brother, Antonio, danced up the aisle and presented Ale's gift to the novios. For those who've never seen Reed dance, let me put it this way: American Blacks have told him, "You're the only white man we know who dances like a black man!" Needless to say, they got a hearty round of applause. It was a riot!

Then there was a traditional dance where the newlyweds sit in the ubiquitous plastic chairs and are lifted -- women lift the novio; men lift the novia (bride) – with high hilarity! Then they served cena (supper) -- this time a kind of pot roast with rice, chicken wings and more rice. This meal set the stage for much dancing and just plain merriment -- plus cerveza y tequila. The Mexicans certainly know how to party!

The only sanitorio (restroom) was down a set of very steep, very rough stairs -- not for me. After 5 hours, I met our Monarca taxi to go back to our house to use the facilities and feed the cats. When I got back, the Baile de los Regalos (Dance of the Gifts) was underway, so I stood for awhile and just watched. I didn't see Reed and Antonio in line, but at one point I caught the groom's eye and (rather formally) dipped my head in greeting and respect. He responded in kind, and we shared a smile. Priceless.

The celebration continued with a dance by the older women carrying full platters of cooked chicken with mole and rice, clearly, a tradition that the women enjoyed continuing.

My Spanish combined with Reed's dancing and photo-taking appear to be 'magical' for opening doors. I had an absolutely delightful chat with a nurse and primary teacher from Morelia (friends of friends of the bride); when they left, the nurse gave me her phone number so we can meet when we're in Morelia -- priceless! Reed enjoyed dancing with a woman from the pueblo; when we were about to leave, she asked Alejandra if she could invite us to her house: "Of course," she replied! Priceless! At the end, the announcer greeted everyone -- from the pueblo, the Purépecha community and "our friends from the United States." Once again, priceless!

Were off today to Ucazanástacua for comida at the house of Jorge Cira, who runs the ecology program at CELEP, our Spanish school. We engage in English conversation at our house with his young-adult sons, Jorge and Hugo. Comida is to be followed by a basketball game to be followed by another dance and fireworks! Tomorrow we go back to Ucas for a jaripeo (Brahma bull riding), a tradition introduced by the Spaniards when they brought bulls to Mexico.

It continues to impress me how many roads there are by which to enter Mexican life and culture. We're thoroughly enjoying the process of discovering our "vía."